


Painful Ties

by Sh_Boom_69



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: AYOOO, Alternate Universe - Soulmate AU, Can Feel Each Others Pain Tho, DO NOT BE AFRAID OF THE MAI/ZUKO...it is there...for reasons, First Kiss, Have Fun!, I Tried, M/M, Slow Burn, Soulmate AU, Thanks, Trust, Zukka Nation Rise!, also suki and yue are not the main relationship, but not involving zukka, i forgot to mention that when i first did these tags, i hope you enjoy, i'm very bad at tagging, it is somehow simultaneously the angstyist shit ever too, it is what it is, peeepppss this is literally probably the softest stuff i have ever written BUT, pls go easy on me and my writing, pulled a little sneaky on ya, slooooowwwwww burn, soft, soulmate identifying marks, the softness and angst is strong with this one, there may be polyamory involving other characters...maybe, this is purely zukka, you know? but yes, zukka - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:22:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25475335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sh_Boom_69/pseuds/Sh_Boom_69
Summary: “Please,” She rocked, “Please,please spare him from a life of loneliness.”“I beg of you.” With the final word, she pulled Zuko tight against her form, placed a handagainst his mark, her fingertips reached past the sun’s rays, and burned.--that super angsty soul mate au nobody asked for
Relationships: Brief Jetko - Relationship, Mai & Zuko (Avatar), Mai/Zuko (Avatar), Minor Jetko - Relationship, Sokka/Suki (Avatar), Sokka/Yue (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 91
Kudos: 315





	1. Book 1, Prologue: I Beg of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lunatic_Pup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunatic_Pup/gifts).



> Thank you to all who helped fully fledged out this idea!!

Ursa had a private pregnancy, and a private birth. Her heart was not fortunate in the way of joy bursting through the seams of its fragile material. It pounded, jumped, skipped with worry, and her eyes wrinkled around the edges, panicked in their pursuit to view their baby. She heard only the drum of her heart, and her thoughts cycled through the same path like a rat on a wheel. She had to know; she had to know.

  
“Lay back, Lady Ursa.” Words trapped in her throat raveled around each other, and attempted to unravel themselves to speak. She needed to speak, she needed to know, but the obstacle in her throat, the conglomeration of all the letters desperate to build to words, failed to move once she  
swallowed, and the anxiety in her sizzled within her chest; increasing the rate of her breath.

  
She shook her head ‘no’, hands reached forth towards her swaddled, crying baby. A constant chorus of panic vibrated through her and her eyes traveled across her baby for a mark, but she could not see. “I need you to lie back.” It came across muted over the pounding in her ears, and  
her fingertips caressed the soft skin of her baby before she recoiled. The balloon popped and words floated out of her like newly blown bubbles,

  
“Do they have a mark?” She whispered urgently, voice hoarse, and the nurse’s lips lifted minutely at the corners, her head shaking ‘no’ for an answer, but it still aided in releasing the tension across Ursa’s chest like a boiling over pot getting the heat turned down.

  
“Lie back, ma’am, to hold your son.” The nurse said, eyes twinkling with an imperceptive knowledge, and she motioned with her head for Ursa to lay back. The weight of her baby settled in her arms, a comfortable, thrumming warmth took place within her, and she peered down at her  
child; knowing she would do anything to protect him.

  
\---

A year passed with a bustle of a large, fortuitous market full of profitable items. The war was still raging and each day the Fire Nation was getting closer to sharing their greatness with the rest of the world while, it seemed, more babies were being born with soul-marks indicating their soulmate belonged to another nation. Ursa was spending her days mainly with her son, and  
attending to her duties to the Nation, as well as accompanying Ozai to where he wanted her.

Ursa had never been more grateful her child was born without a soul-mark than that year. She would have to burn her child, her hand imprint across his skin in a mark of disgrace…or was it strength? Ozai’s scar spread across his torso, a nasty imprint of Azulon’s hand forever borne across his skinand he proudly flaunted its strength. Ursa, holding her son as she is now, could never imagine it or misconstrue it as strength. She senses it to hold only despair, and suffering for her child, but she would do it if it meant his safety.

Zuko cooed, reached up to her hair, and pulled on it. Her head turned down to him, worry creased into her forehead, and ran her fingers over his silken hair. Gazing upon her child brought up a thick, uncomfortable wall within her being, like the spirits were warning her of something. The emotion was murky, and had the consistency of mud; scaling up her throat, tasting of doom. She forced a smile, but it translated across her lips as a grimace.

  
The bright atmosphere, and the carefree smile of her son were mocking her; hands waving back and forth by its ears, and a bright red tongue sticking out at her. The tranquility of the pond taunted her, picked apart her greatest insecurities, and assisted in heightening her constricting lungs. Hands shaking, she reached into the depths of her mind where she had stored information  
she’d been trying to ignore.

  
A few weeks ago, she heard through the grapevine a tale of an unmarked child. A woman was boasting proudly of the burn her child bore because of the mark they gained a few weeks after birth. Doom settled in her throat, coating her tongue, and her insides, and paired with this information, it felt like a warning of things to come, and what she had to do.

  
She hoped she would be ready when the time came, if it ever came at all.

  
Later in the night, another call came to her; a call to be alone with her son. He sat next to the pond, turtleducks swarming for food, when he started whining; high pitched, uncomfortable sounds. His hand clutched his collarbone, squirming in pain, and his face screwed up; lips twisted, and swollen from being bitten.

  
Ursa watched in fear, an inkling of what was happening burrowed within her, and she wanted to run away; to ignore what was taking place in front of her. Instead, she squared her shoulders, smoothed her expression, and approached her whining, confused, aching son. She turned him towards her by his right shoulder, and gasped as her eyes alighted upon the forming mark.

  
It was a passionate, blazing sun stretching over his left collarbone, and the rays curled around his shoulder like a tender hand. A sweet, cool moon centered in the middle, contrasted the sun with resolute, controlled strength yet balanced it in its difference, and sported a sleek sword pierced through it. She gaped in awe at the beautiful, powerful soul-mark, and Zuko gazed up at her in  
confusion. “Mama?”

Staring upon the mark, which importance bode great, Ursa overcame her doom, her extreme anxiety of the possibility of Zuko having a mark, and remembered her vow when she first had him.

  
She’d protect him, and the mark, for as long as she could.  
\---

  
Time moved forward rapidly, and only a year later, she could no longer hide the mark. Ozai had increased the amount of surveillance she was under, and she had less time with Zuko to make sure his mark was covered up. Doom was sliding across her, slipping over her, and she was almost entirely consumed by the weight.

  
Paranoia resided at the back of her skull, and pulled her head so she surveyed her surroundings in suspicion. Last time this feeling pervaded her, Zuko’s soul-mark spotted across his collarbone, and confirmed her worries. She needed to find Zuko before Ozai found him.

  
Ursa let Zuko be watched by one of the ladies she trusted, who vowed to not tell a soul of what lay upon her son’s skin, but she had been searching for hours and the doom gnawed at her. Her robes glided across the floor behind her, and her feet padded across its cold surface, but although  
the sounds were unobtrusive, they heightened the paranoia lurking. She wasn’t moving fast enough. Where were they?

  
When Ursa approached the pond, uncomfortable sniffles greeted her ears, and her heart constricted. She paused, collecting her broken features, and rounded the corner. The pond appeared empty once her eyes descended upon it, but as she ventured further the hushed cries became louder until Ozai, in all his destroying nature, was standing in front of her, a hot hand to Zuko’s collarbone.

  
A hand clutched at her throat, a gaze chaining her feet; Ozai imprisoned her without moving an inch. Fear would drown her, and harm her child if she let it. She needed to move, or at least speak, but she couldn’t and the actions fell all around her like her crumbled hope.

  
“How long have you kept this from me, Ursa?” He spoke, a hiss of a striking snake, and the calm of a midafternoon before a storm. His hand flexed around Zuko’s mark, and Ursa’s heart kicked her in the chest like a startled horse; her breath stolen from her. “Answer me, Ursa. How long?” The hand previously choking her descended her throat, and pulled words from her as a magician does a scarf hidden in their sleeve. His palm lit red, fire flicking cheekily,

Too long? “Not long enough.” She said, and her palm lit with their own fire, licking her palms with a friendliness of a stray cat. Amusement filtered into his eyes as they settled upon her fire, and he smirked, challenging her to do something. She chose to ignore it. 

  
He hummed, eyes looking through her as if she was just another piece of the scenery; the amusement never left, “Burn it or I will,” he spoke, and dropped Zuko carelessly on the ground, stepping over him. His presence permeated the atmosphere, and killed each vibrant molecule into a grey scale, his hand clutching Ursa’s arm like a handcuff to pull her to him. “I’ll ruin you too one day,” he hissed, stinging her ear, and she absorbed the flinch that wanted to escape.

  
“Leave me.” She said over her pounding, terrified heart, and the smirk returned, amused eyes trailing filthy marks across her skin, before he unlocked the cuff, and walked away; it sounded like the fluttering of dark wings, and a raging storm.

  
Zuko’s cries penetrated, and consumed the thick, fearful atmosphere, and she allowed her own tears to fall as she bent to pick him up. “I’m sorry,” She sobbed, “I’m so sorry.” Her arms shook around Zuko, and her hair dampened under the attack of the tears. “Please, spirits forgive me for  
what I must do.” Her eyes moved heavenward, dark skies revealing no mercy, no listening ears, and no watchful eyes, but still…she begged.

  
Hysteria chewed away the doom, and filled her with cold. It was no longer murky, and the  
weight upon her shoulders lifted to an emptiness she despised. “Please,” She rocked, “Please, please spare him from a life of loneliness.” Zuko’s warmth couldn’t fight the cold within her soul, and his clutching fists were not prepared to combat the strife of life, even though it had already reached him. She would be fine. She would have to be. “Please watch over him.” Snot  
trudged out of her nose, and her lips cracked, “Don’t have his fragile shoulders carry the weight of our transgressions, please, spirits, please…”

  
“I beg of you.” With the final word, she pulled Zuko tight against her form, placed a hand  
against his mark, her fingertips reached past the sun’s rays, and burned.

  
They both sobbed, and screamed in agony, a scream so loud the spirits could hear.


	2. Book 1, Let It Burrow Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They would eternally be siblings, supporting, annoying, and helping one another in the way  
> siblings do; but invariably there’d be a distance, no matter the reparations new, happy memories  
> did.
> 
> She vowed, one day, she’d find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry it took sooo long! but here it is! You find out a bit about whats going on with sokka here, and as the chapters go on youll find out more and more info!
> 
> i hope you enjoy!!

Katara hadn’t understood the scarred palm covering her brother’s right collarbone and scarred fingers curled over his shoulder. She hadn’t understood the whispers spread around the tribe faster than any virus ever could— _cursed, cursed, disgraced by the spirits, disgraced…no mark…taken…young…evil_ —but she tried to be there for her brother despite it.

  
Each year, Katara noticed the piling clothes upon her brother’s slim form. Sokka would wear gloves to dinner, giant parkas over four layers of long sleeve clothes during the day, and Katara understood in the bitter cold, but even in the comfort of their home, the layers would stay; sometimes grow. His eyes traced a path around his surroundings in anxiety. It unnerved her that her brother, annoying, yes, but still always seemed to have a careless ease about him, was nervous about something; what about? It was just another thing she hadn’t understood.

  
She had her own whispers— _poor soul, soulmate…dead, destined…alone_ —to worry about but it wasn’t as bad because at least she wasn’t scarred. People looked at her with pity; people looked at Sokka with disgust, fear even. It would always be different, and it drove a deeper wedge between Sokka and her; add it to another thing she hadn’t understood at the time.

  
She tried, really, she did! But then attempting water-bending, and Sokka had spent all his time with their dad, or by himself, or making her life unbearable got in the way of investigating the clothes, or the strange blocks of time where he’d disappear. The times she’d find herself alone with Sokka, and he’d allow the calm atmosphere to mist down upon them, he’d avoid, and joke until she eventually got frustrated and dropped it; the calamity of atmosphere ignited all around them and blew their minute, momentary connection apart.

  
They would eternally be siblings, supporting, annoying, and helping one another in the way  
siblings do; but invariably there’d be a distance, no matter the reparations new, happy memories did.

  
She vowed, one day, she’d find out.

\---

“C’mon, Sokka, just tell me!” He raced ahead, chasing after their dad; gaze shifting around, and his feet tripping over furs in their way. His head dipped with apology, then whipped around in annoyance,

“What?!” Katara’s chest ached with a fire of frustration, and her hands raised in the air to convey it,

  
“You know!” Sokka turned around, his eyes widened in frustrated confusion, and his eyebrows trekked up his forehead. Urgency found its way into Katara’s words, and they startled together like hurried children in the morning, “Well, what I mean is…” she ruminated, stuck between this or that, and never too articulate, “you’re wearing too many clothes!”

  
“Uh, yeah…its cold…?” His feet danced around themselves as he turned himself back around again, and Katara groaned in annoyance.

  
“That is not what I mean!” Her brother was slipping through her grasp, farther than he’d ever been before, and her nose itched with hurt. “You know what I mean!”

  
“How am I supposed to know what you mean?” People in the tribe casted suspicious glances to the outcasts, and drew into themselves as they passed. Katara and Sokka were destined to be alone. It had written itself into their souls.

  
Frustration and worry clawed at her eyes until snot cracked her lips, and her eyes watered, “I’m worried about you!” She said, hands reaching out like maybe she could grasp the distance to tear it into miniscule shreds; like maybe her small bones and thin skin could repair what was bothering him by touch alone. He stops, shoulders sagging underneath the weight of her palms against him, and turns,

  
“I’m fine.” He says, “I promise, okay, Katara.” He says, but his eyes are translating an entirely different story; his form painting letters and twining them together to utter a foreign tale opposite from the words tumbling from his mouth. His chest pathetically rises and falls, his limbs loose, dragging like a doll who has been played rough with too many times; the seams tearing apart from one another with no one to patch them back up…or maybe the doll is too broken to repair. _Say a joke!_ She internally begs, _say a stupid joke, Sokka! Please, please…don’t just stand there!_

  
Then, like the first burst of light after a night of darkness, anger flares, and she wants to yell, _what is wrong with you, and just tell me already!_ A weak, defeated “Ok,” is what is left of her when the sunrise reverts and she’s thrusted into darkness again. Among the horizon, light peaks out once more, and hope rises with it once Sokka, still drowning within darkness, sighs,

  
“I’ll tell you after I get back.” She smiles, and her chest swells with victory.

\---

Katara was focusing. Fluid, frigid coldness traversed through her veins, and her hands shook with effort, but the water wouldn’t bend to her will. Her breath came out in short puffs, and her chest pulled through heavily; form shaking in exertion. Her eyes closed, viper thoughts filtering through her mind and succeeding in disrupting her form; _alone, given a mark for naught, its mocking, mocking…its laugh and tease haunt the nightmares of loneliness plaguing me…why was I given a mark for nothing!_

  
“Katara?” Sokka tentatively interrupted, and Katara opened her eyes to an imperceptible crater she created around herself. It was hardly noticeable, but the snow had moved and her heart lifted with pride; a smile etching itself into her lips. She turned, the smile falling once gazing upon Sokka’s downtrodden face, and grimacing, twisting lips; her throat closed with panic to stop a flood of sorrow from pouring out of her mouth.

“Sokka…”

  
“You wanted to talk?”

  
“Yeah.” She said, ineffectual; barren. It could not contain the depths of which she wanted to convey. She did not know how to begin, where to go; grasping in the dark though the sun hadn’t set. He shuffled, feet nudging the snow, and rubbing the back of his neck; eyes downcast to trace the lines left in the snow.

  
Sokka chuckled; dry, staccato, abrupt, “it doesn’t seem we’re talking now.” Katara’s palms itched with the need to reach into the atmosphere, and pull the correct letters, semicolons, commas, words to shape around this situation and warm it to a comfortable temperature to nestle within. She stopped reaching, and settled.

  
“I won’t judge, and we can just talk. Trust me.” She rushed before she could contemplate, sabotage, worry further. _Please trust me._ Hesitance, fear stilled the marks in the snow, and the tense hand rested on his neck; eyes wide—caught. He fidgeted, casted suspicious glances, then capitulated,

  
“Let’s go a bit farther, away from the people.”

  
“We’re already a bit—”

  
“Just…please?” She sighed and nodded.  
They trekked until Sokka motioned for her to stop, and crossed his legs to sit down; despite the wet coldness. Katara groaned, a small sound hidden behind her lips, and sat beside him. His gloves filled with snow, packed it together, and set it down; rolling down and over towards the  
water.

  
She waited, aware pushing him now would only result in another wall being built. At last, his mouth opened; the first creak in an inevitably breaking dam.

  
“People in the Tribe want to see it…the…um” He swallowed, casting a glance at Katara nodding in encouragement, and continued, “the scar, “ he motioned to his collarbone, “so they um…corner me, and you know…take—take my clothes off…to—to see it.” Anger raked its claws inside of her soul, and licked her cheek in greeting,

  
“That’s wrong, Sokka!” She shouted, hands thrown up in the air, and he flinched,

  
“I know, but you don’t need to worry! I’ve got it handled, its fine.” He pleaded, eyes wide, and stared up at Katara pacing with anger.  
“It is not fine! We’ve gotta tell someone! Dad, mom—someone!” Sokka stood, and Katara’s  
fierce protectiveness was joining the beast of anger in consuming her,

  
“Then they’ll just see me as the cursed, weak child. I can’t do that. I’m fine! This is why I didn’t want to tell you, Katara!” She turned to him, tears of frustration in her eyes, and his terrified eyes backed by angry, fighting hands paused the seething heat within her.

  
“Fine…fine. We won’t tell anyone.” His relief was prominent, obvious tension and fear crawling off his back, and alleviating the weight from his shoulders as he sat down. Katara followed, cautiously, as to not burn the surrounding from the heat of her anger.

  
“Thank you.” He spoke after a while, peering at the scenery in front of him. Katara smiled and bumped his shoulder with hers.

  
“Of course,” it was a quiet promise of, _I’ll always be here for you_ , then, “do you have anything else you’d like to tell me?” His easy breathing stopped momentarily, and he tensed up again before opening the drawbridge to mutter,

  
“No.” but the lie was already told before the words tripped out of his mouth. She nodded, hoping maybe she’d be patient enough this time to let it lay until he was ready.

  
“Okay.” He nudged her arm, stood up, and grinned down at her, though it cracked around the edges like a broken picture.

“Last one to make it to mom has to help with dinner!” She looked down at the moon surrounded by gusts of air, and a glider cut through it covering her palm, and sadness smoothed over the anger like a salve.

  
She wondered what the spirits had in hand for them. She hoped, and let it burrow within her heart, whispering her wishes to the spirits, and then took off after Sokka.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh, what could sokka be hiding from Katara?
> 
> the 3rd chapter will be about Zuko, and i will try to release it soon!! 
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!!


	3. Book 1, Ponder the Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He thought, in a moment of calm delusion before passing out from the pain, “I think I see the sun.” and then the sight of his left eye was gone, and his conscious went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long, and i hope you enjoy!! 
> 
> my tumblr is wang-fires-therapy if you want to go there and part with me or rant at me about my work or just maybe be friends, hit me up, lemme know there!!
> 
> sorry if it wonky too, its 2 am here and ive been working all night!! thank you!!
> 
> i hope you enjoy!
> 
> next chapter will hopefully be up soon!!

Pain slithered across his skin, and erupted over his eye, his cheek. He held in the scream, and bit his tongue, and sunk his fingers into his thigh, desperate to bear; to clutch a grasp of reality somewhere outside of the hurt. It bubbled, busted, bloomed; flowers over his cheek, and thorns prickling deep within. He thought, in a moment of calm delusion before passing out from the pain, “I think I see the sun.” and then the sight of his left eye was gone, and his conscious went dark.

  
He woke up on a ship, bandages on his flamed skin, and Uncle Iroh’s slip of worry—crinkled eyes, and creased forehead—before he closed his eye, and hoped it all a dream.

  
\---

  
Failure was never anything but sweet to Zuko. It held a hand to his cheek, gently touching the tips of his scar, kissed his tinged ear, touched his hand with a familiar sweetness, danced around him, and always, always, knocked him off his feet. “No!” He yelled, fire coating his fists, but couldn’t rival the fire in his eyes, his eyebrow pulling towards the missing other; reaching, reaching in frustration. “No! Not again…” _no, no, no! I can’t fail again!_

  
His thoughts sounded pathetically like begging sobs, and he winced in disgust.

  
Air whistled around him, tickling him, and his nose wrinkled from distaste. _You’re never coming back home,_ Azula’s voice whispered, _never._ His heart twisted with vile sorrow, his lip revolted, and he was immersed in remembrance—bitter, bitter memories.

  
_“Do you think we’ll ever be able to be siblings again?” His small voice carried over to Azula,_  
_she scoffed._

  
_“Foolish. You really think we ever were? You were nothing but competition, which you failed at that too.”_

  
Zuko gritted his teeth, snarling into the wind, _foolish, foolish, foolish._

  
_You used to look up to me!_ He had wanted to say then, when things were simpler, when the scars weren’t noticeable; only a hand, comfortable on his collarbone. But he’s scarred now, in a different way, by a different hand, and for a different reason; he was never meant to be painless, never meant to be happy.

  
“ _You’re going to be late for the meeting” she said, impish, smirking, knowing; evil in an_  
_innocent way, like she knew, she knew, but wasn’t the perpetrator._

Zuko ignored the pain, shoved away the failure with flaming, angry fists, and moved from the edge; his tooth cracked, and fell down his throat, tearing his heart. _Foolish, foolish, failure_ drummed inside his head with the beat of his bleeding, torn heart.

 _  
_ “Uncle!” he called once he descended the air temple, and met the ship, “start the course, he wasn’t here.” _I failed again…_ went unspoken but Iroh heard it through the gaps in between the words, and strung it together.  
Zuko looked upon his Uncle, the creased worry invading his face, and brushed it all aside.

_  
\---_

_  
_ The mirror cracked, broke, and distorted his image, but his intrusive thoughts had already  
succeeded in distorting the curvatures of his being. He grimaced at his reflection, vomit rising in his throat, tip-toeing his esophagus, and smirking at his self-hatred _. You need to do better,_ he touched his scar, his hand covering the muscle, bone, skin laying across his collarbone _, you must do better,_ and covered the scar on his face, a tinge of sadness mixed with the vomit; cataclysmic disaster, and the vomit threatened to spill over the edges.

 _  
_ His good, clean, functioning eye stared back at him in a jumbled reflection, but the confused sadness, and anger was evident. It only aided the acidity coating him, and blood pouring from his tongue. He growled, bloody teeth from eating, ignoring, defecating his own innards, his own pain, and closed his eyes, then puked.

_  
Better, better, better…you failed…you’ll never be welcomed back._

_  
_ He wished the rest of him went with it _._

_  
\---_

_  
_ Each dance with failure was different. Sometimes it was an intimate waltz, others it was an exciting tango. It pushed, it pulled; it propelled, and it supported. Failure teased him, and challenged him, and it reminded him that he needed to work _harder, harder, harder…_ It took his hand, smirked at him, kissed his cheek; it was the perfect partner, and was incapable of judging, yet, still, he despised the familiarity of its grasp.

 _  
_ “No!” He shouted, thrashed, and burned, “No! Not again!” Failure smiled, kind, and he refused the dainty hand boding the saccharine nectar of what he most dangerously yearned. _Learn_ , it beckoned, but he ignored its call.

Pain sprouted underneath the skin of his left knee, spreading through, rotting and prickling his soul; needles poking incessantly. He fell, his shoulder slamming into the ground. Iroh cursed, scrambled to Zuko, and checked him over; calloused, thick hands tilting his chin, touching his hand. Zuko rejected it, startled away from the stimuli, and sneered, “I’m fine!”

  
“Zuko, you should rest.”

  
“I’m fine!” He snapped.

  
“Zuko…” Iroh began, and Zuko groaned on the back of his tongue, slipping through his lips like a secretive teen sneaking from home. “The journey will no longer be waiting for you if you cannot bear the distance.” Zuko gaped in confusion, his mind racing to catch up, but was interrupted by frustration, “rest.”

  
_Failure, failure…he sent you away, what are you expecting?_ “I need to find him!” He said, gold met gold, determined fury met worry, and relented. “Fine.” Walking, stopping, leaning, whispering, “but when I wake, we start again.”

Iroh sighed; the soft brush he interpreted as disappointment, but was so, so blue, it could only be sadness.

  
\---

Seeing the bright flare restored, flickered, hope inside of his chest, and a smirk quirked his lip; racing over to the scope. _I’m coming home, I’m coming home, I’m coming home_ , it echoed, unrelenting, pounding, thrumming, and a small sliver, pathetic, hopeful… _father loves me, he does want me_. Happy, victorious.

  
“Wake my Uncle! Tell him: I found the Avatar.”

  
The water tribe air was cold, he noticed, nails biting into his skin, claiming him; marking him. It was small, a handful of people, and each huddled around each other, loved, and children with soulmate marks proud on their skin. Envy came easy, but it wouldn’t last. Vibrant, demanding shouting interspersed his thoughts, and lifted his attention upon a boy.

  
It happened quick, a kick, and moved on, but pain spotted on his head. Confusion was prevalent, and he stopped; wincing. _How did he get attacks in?_

Zuko continued off the ship, snow crunching underneath his feet. Irritation bubbled in his veins, blew across his skin, and popped into the atmosphere, “where are you hiding him?!” _so close, so close, so close…_

 _  
_ The parka was soft in his hand _, “he’d be about this age!”_ he stressed _, “master of all elements?!”_ The popping bubbles in the atmosphere ignited in anger, and flames spread from his fingertips. Vibrant, running shouting interrupted him once again, and he deflected the attack, sending the pitiful opponent on the ground. An impertinent hug clung to his back, foreign yet familiar, his yet not his; it hurt but it didn’t seem real at the same time. When this pain clung, it hardly ever seemed real.

 _  
How does he keep on doing that?!_ Zuko wanted to cling like the pain, turn over each inch of it, ponder the meaning and the hidden attacks, but each moment flooded into the next, and then the avatar was offering himself up. A girl screamed, gloved hands reaching for him, gas into the air, and her breath striking a match, burning around him _._ He disregarded her and swallowed around  
the skittish lump shaking in his throat, becoming more antsy the closer he came to the inside of the ship _._

He should not care; he should _not_ care.

 _  
_ He was coming home _; he was coming home…_

 _  
_ His father loved him—his heart thudded, faltered—and he was wanted—it skipped.

 _  
_ He could ponder the boy later.


	4. Book 1, Molten Lava

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko’s dormant eyes exploded,  
> molten lava cascading into Sokka from curiosity, and a momentary gentleness. 
> 
> Sokka ignored it all, and Zuko did too, then the moment was over, and Zuko pushed him aside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, my wonderful snow lions! i am so so sorry it has taken so long, school has been a bitch (excuse my language) and i wanted to update, so i am sorry if it seems rushed. I hope you enjoy this chapter!!! 
> 
> kudos and comments really encourage me, and i thank you all!!

_A_ _portentous hand clutched his sleeve, bony fingers like the rot iron of a cage stopping his heart and pulling him back. Lace confidential words billow out, tied in bows, and plumped up on a gift shoved down his throat; “you have a soulmate.” He chokes._

  
“Sokka?” It echoes, pierced by other words floating in his mind, and letters scattered; gone.

  
_Gran-Gran continues before he can pluck the paper, and box, and letters, and periods from his mouth to speak. “you don’t have much time, because your sister, and the avatar needs you, but you deserve to know for I believe they are still out there.”_

  
_“Sokka!” Katara calls._

  
“Sokka…?”

  
_She grabs his hands, frail meeting strong though his hands shake with fragility. “look for the person who wields dual Dao swords,” she said, before kissing him on the forehead. His unspoken pleas suffocated at the bottom of his lungs, and he could not breathe, he could not breathe, and his grandmother smiled like she wasn’t witnessing the collapse of his being. “Be safe on your travels.”_

  
_‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Screams trapped in his lungs, “I’ve been so alone, thought I was_  
_destined for loneliness!’ His mouth gaped as she walked away,_

  
_“Sokka!”_

  
He deserved to know, he needed to know, it was his to know. Why didn’t anyone tell him? Did anyone else know? _Why, why, why?!_ _How?!_ There was no one to answer the questions pillaging his mind of any other thought. It consumed him, despaired him, lit him, panicked him. He thrashed inside of himself and this precious thing, this unknown thing brought so much pain, he wondered if he was better off not knowing.

  
It grew more questions, hanging from the branches of the tree of confusion sprouting from the scar on his right collarbone like sour fruit. Ripe memories of the boy mirroring his pain hung from their own branch, deceiving technicolor brilliance, yet parted with an acerbic taste each time he visited them.

  
_“Sokka!”_

  
“Sokka…?”

_“Sokka, hurry!”_

  
“Sokka?” A gentle hand landed on his unmarked shoulder, fluttering uncertainly like a baby bird on a weak branch, and he snapped his head towards Katara, blue eyes gleamed with worry. He wanted to tell her, her eyes whispered comfort, but she was moving back towards Aang, or maybe he had pushed her away, and it wasn’t about him anymore if it ever had been. He turned away stubbornly, and muttered, “I’m fine,” falling on preoccupied ears, and tumbled on the ground as wasted breath.

  
Kyoshi Island wasn’t the first-time failure clutched tightly onto his hand, and pulled him around the dance floor. At first, he was miffed, tripping over his feet, insistent his way was right, that he knew the choreography; he was doing it _right_. Failure slipped a crescent moon smile, kissed his cheek, lips embedded with learn, embrace me, learn, and he started to trip less; tangled legs tapping along to the beat.

  
He realized, upon dancing through failure, and falling into the chasm of heated embarrassment, they were warriors, worthy of respect just as much as his father.  
Suki was beautiful, and strong. She held herself as a woman who knows herself, and the worth of melted gold running through her veins. He was in awe of her, but—frowning at the fans she used—he knew it wouldn’t be possible.

  
_Dual Dao Swords_ , it was like poison, burning through his ear, and weighing down his heart.  
_I would have been better off not knowing._

  
Suki laughed, her hand taunted in the perfunctory fingertips reaching towards him, and he smiled—grimaced—and intertwined his hand with hers before attempting to pull her to the  
ground. Unsurprisingly, she plants her feet, and let’s go so he thumped back on the ground with a thud. She chuckles in amusement, a smirk curling her lips, and affection blooms in his heart. He looked in her eyes, they’re smug as ever, and all he could think was,

  
_It isn’t fair._

  
Zuko’s ship crashed against the island, black snow, murky rain, floated over the people, and Sokka followed a speck until it rounded a bend, out of sight, under a foot. Suki’s eyes widened, then narrowed, and turned to Sokka, a farewell in her eyes. He wanted to hug her, kiss her, but he knew she’d probably laugh at him. The moment was over, but he had never felt more seen, and he nodded, she nodded back, a smile pulled at her lips, before they departed from one another.

Amber eyes, burnt around the edges, held carelessly by fire, found unmarked blue, and  
narrowed, almost as if they could recognize Sokka underneath the make-up, almost as if they were looking into Sokka, and he was wearing his usual get-up; completely recognizable. Sokka shifted under the gaze, remembering Suki’s comforting eyes on his face, and adjusted his stance before approaching.

  
Zuko started cautiously, cocking his head and observing Sokka closely. Sokka reassured his grip on the fans, and swallowed his nerves and embarrassment, nodding to himself; you can do this, you can do this. Each step forward was countered by Zuko taking a step back, until Zuko sent a flame of fire at him, the heat spreading through the clothes, and drawing him to the side, like a wild animal running from a wild fire only bringing them closer to the predator. He didn’t know who was the prey, and who was the predator.

  
_Predators run from fire too,_ Sokka thought, inquisitively glancing at Zuko, before getting into the fight again, taking a swipe at him, _looks like Zuko didn’t run fast enough._

  
Sokka’s heart clawed into his internal ribcage, piercing his lungs the closer in proximity to Zuko, and he grit his teeth into his cheek, blood leaking into his mouth. Clashes of weapons, and blasts of fire shoot off behind him, rushing next to the loud beat of his heart in his ears as he makes his way to Zuko. His palms find Zuko, pushing him roughly into the wall, and molasses pain soaked his back, a thud against the back of his head.

  
The claws grew dull, growing to soft pets, and nuzzles inside of his ribcage; warmth victorious. Confused disgust lumped like cancer at the back of his throat as Zuko’s dormant eyes exploded, molten lava cascading into Sokka from curiosity, and a momentary gentleness. The lava cooled, and Sokka ignored the waves of comforting warmth, and pain undulating through his body. Sokka ignored it all, and Zuko did too, then the moment was over, and Zuko pushed him aside; a wince trekked through his face, sculpted it into something Sokka almost gave sympathy to.

  
Later, Suki told him people can have two sides coexisting at once, a shy, uncharacteristic aura about her, and his mind briefly supplied him acerbic fruit to bite into, bitter memories, memories adding to conflict within him, of a humanity no monster should have. She kissed his cheek, and all thoughts were raked from his mind, and a blush overtook him.

  
In the nippy air of the evening, Sokka ate rotten fruit, poisoning the delicate folds of his brain, and twisting his stomach; hating himself for wanting to delve deeper into the meaning of the look in Zuko’s eyes. The vomit burned his throat as he forced it back down, and tried to go to sleep.


	5. Book 1, Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What does it feel like to have a soulmate?” He asked, amber eyes gazing at him, encompassed  
> in a cloak of darkness,
> 
> “Warm…” She said, and he closed his eyes in disgust, and quandary.
> 
> Sokka understood it more than he would have liked to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyoooo, snow lions!! i hope you enjoy this!! 
> 
> i am sorry its been a bit! but book one is almost over, can you believe it?? i cannot. 
> 
> anywhos, enjoy this angsty mess, love yall!

“What does it feel like to have a soulmate?” He asked, amber eyes gazing at him, encompassed in a cloak of darkness, and Katara had the gall to look affronted. He too was affronted by his actions, his blunt curiosity where he did not have the right to venture. Still, he scoffed, and rolled his eyes, “Oh c’mon, like you and goo, goo eyes aren’t soulmates.”

She blushed, of course she blushed, “Aang, doesn’t…”

“What?” Hushed lips, uncertain eyes; concern. Whispered words next to his ear to collect,

“Doesn’t have a mark…” Fragile, a badly planted seed, and he could ignore it, or throw it away, but instead he gathered it in his palms, and replanted it more securely.

“What does it feel like?” He reiterated, and fixed blue to blue. She smiled, the first signs of a healthy flower, and closed her eyes in thought; interrupting the connection. Blue to amber in the dark, and it tasted bitter.

“Warm…” She said, and he closed his eyes in disgust, and quandary.

“Yeah.” His hand rested on her shoulder, squeezed, “I’m sure he feels the same.”

_Sokka understood it more than he would have liked to._

***

They stumbled across Jet, and his followers accidentally, but it is then when Sokka started to realize his scar wasn’t an isolated event.

Jet wore his scar with a careless poise, held it as evidence, angry and puffy, wrapped around his forearm; a palm and fingers clasped as a bracelet. Sokka glowered, sickness residing in his belly…or perhaps it was shame.

Sokka marked it down as intuition.

Later, Jet would find him, sit on a sturdy edge, and lay a hand on his unmarked shoulder. He’d ask, “Do you have a scar too?” and Sokka would bite his tongue hard enough it would perforate, so his teeth would be bloody when he smiled, and he’d have to nod. Wordlessly Sokka would reveal the scar, like he had done unwillingly many times before, and Jet would grin like it was a gift.

“I’ve got a job for you.”

Now, Sokka laid awake, the moon casting sweet light, and listened to the suspicious noises of Jet, Smellerbee, Longshot, moving around in the night, and let the quiet anxiety eat him alive.

  
Before Jet disposed of him, his eyes lingered on Sokka’s scarred collarbone, and, without gaze meeting gaze, he said,

“I thought you’d understand, not only losing your mother to the fire nation, but the one you’re destined for too.” Sokka wanted to laugh. He wanted to say he chooses his own destiny. But it died inside the cavern of his throat when Jet’s expression mirrored that of a misguided child, cataracts of desperation clouded the lens, begged for understanding, and acceptance. Sokka winced at the mirror, and redoubled his anger through the pity.

  
_A humanity no monster should have._

  
It reminded him of Zuko.

  
***

  
He thought of Wu as a false deity, parading around and leading the people to doom. Every word out of her mouth, out of Katara’s mouth, out of Aang’s mouth was a mock of his situation. It led him to face dual Dao Swords, and Amber eyes, and warmth, and confusion when all he wanted was strength, and poise, and _Suki_.

  
Sokka wanted to scream.

  
Wu had her puppet master hands, and controlled each person with their puppetry puppet strings. They were so blind, Sokka scoffed.

  
The cushion buoyed him as Momo scurried around, and Aang snuck around, an utter loneliness accompanying the confusion prevalent in his mind. A part of him wanted his fortune told to prove how much of a scam she was, but a deeper, more primal part of his being wanted to ease the confusion inside of him.

  
_“There are things in this world that just can’t be explained,” she said, eyes lingering on Sokka._

  
He had groaned and changed the subject.

  
Aunt Wu exited, Katara trailing after her, and smiling. Wu’s eyes locked onto Sokka  
instantaneously, scrutinizing him, a subdermal knowledge ran through her blood, and Sokka fidgeted into a stand. “Your future is full of struggle and anguish.” He froze. “Most of it self-inflicted.”

Sokka wanted to scream.

  
_How do you know?! How do you know?! You can’t possibly know the struggle I’ve endured, the_ _pain I’ve been forced to carry!! It isn’t my fault!_

  
_It isn’t my fault!_

  
A chain wrapped around his throat, yanking him backwards, and he tripped over his feet, toes hitting his ankle, and he fell, plunging deeper and deeper still into the water, and everyone around him was telling him to breathe, just breathe but when he inhales, his lungs choke on the water.

  
Aunt Wu fixed him with a droll downturn of her lips, and the water replaced any oxygen keeping him alive with hope.

  
_It isn’t my fault! I never asked for any of this! I never wanted any of this! I was a child_ , he  
gritted his teeth, hung onto the mask of indifference, a comedic relief, a necessary component but he couldn’t remember a time when he was truly happy with the way his life was going. He couldn’t remember the face of the person who brought him comfort, and all that was left of his childhood was a farewell, a task to protect a tribe that didn't love him.

  
_I was a child, what did I do? What have I done?_ Insecurity, self-hatred, and confusion, panic under the mask, waterproof clown makeup withstanding the tears, salty, dangerous, prevailing water—it’s just water, water, water, you’re fine, fine, fine—gushed, soaked him and his words drowned.

  
Sokka wanted to expel the dead words buried under water at the base of his throat, and scream, scream, _scream_. He swallowed, remaining the front, but while Aang spewed happiness, and Katara smiled, and Wu looked at him with disappointment, with an utter contempt and disdain, the waves reached forth, cool, flowing seaweed fingers slid on his shoulders, slippery in its pursuit, and pulled the rest of him under.

  
He locked the scream of anxiety in with a smile, and an eased attitude.


	6. Book 1, Bitter and Hesitant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In his subconscious, a comforting hand, bitter and hesitant, brushed cautiously against his  
> shivering forehead, and he experienced warmth deep in the middle of his being despite all that  
> cold.
> 
> But subconscious memories could rarely be relied upon, and Zuko’s weary mind didn’t want to  
> venture any further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chappie will be Sokkas side of things, and thennnnnn
> 
> * drum roll please* 
> 
> book 2!!
> 
> i hope you enjoy what i have to offer!!
> 
> thanks for reading, and please leave comments and kudos! theyre highly appreciated!!

Zuko wanted to scream. It wasn’t the pain, no, Zuko was used to pain, eating at the layers of his skin, blood mutilating his pale skin into an obscene red, and transforming his appearance into a muddled, torn, messy sludge on the floor, in the mirror. It wasn’t anger, the kind to make a man dig his blunt fingers into his skin, just to see the skeleton monster staring back at him, bared raw, and ready to burn. It wasn’t even insanity, anxiety from trying to control an uncontrollable, insatiable, consuming world—life.

  
It was fear, embarrassingly clinging to his vocal cords, pervading the breath that spread from his chapped lips, and would fill the air with stink, but there was no sound given to the breath, just quickened footsteps falling, yearning for escape.

  
This fire was different, Iroh firing shots at his face-- _don’t flinch, don’t flinch, don’t flinch_ \--or an enemy curling flame around their fingertips, singeing, licking, caressing the skin, and building intensity to _attack, attack, attack_. He could trace the outlines of the fire, register the sense of the stance, or the feet, or the hands, or the fight. This fire wasn’t fighting, wasn’t for control, it was built to dominate, to destroy, and it wanted to consume his skin for its own.

  
It reminded him too much of his Father’s fire, and the intimacy, the familiar heat, knocked the scream out of his throat in a pathetic beg for mercy.

  
Just like that fateful night, there was no mercy to be found.

  
***

  
Zuko didn’t remember how he survived. His scar ached, tinged an even uglier, lumpier red, and his bones hurt. He wanted to extract himself, an exorcism of his being, and be sent elsewhere.

  
He’s already in hell. This body, this life, was no escape for the demon he is, the disappointment he brought his family, his nation. The metal groaned, moaning in his ear, and swept unease over him, dust anxiety clogging his pores.

  
The uniform bore down on his form, a farce of his current situation. He was a rat, thieving food, occupying space in the lair of the enemy. He didn’t belong here.

  
Fervid air, stinging his nose, and overwhelmed his senses. He thought he tasted blood, metallic, but he licked the edge of a scar, and the taste was different, gush red, gush heat, gush consistency. This was the acerbic taste of anxiety, prominent, the warmth residing in his chest, metamorphic in nature, cold spreading wings to fly. Warm caterpillar to cold butterfly to lonely  
rat. He was all three. He had been all three.

Warm caterpillar, unaware of danger, eating, preparing. A great change in store, but is unknown to the one undergoing the procedure, perceptively safe, but danger lurking at every corner. _I was so blind, so content, so happy to be ignorant. I should’ve known, I should’ve paid more attention._

  
Cold butterfly, fleeing the cocoon, the previous warmth of safety compromised, and warmth going unchecked, mutating into a burn. Fly away, little butterfly, alone and suffocating in the cold. All preconceived notions of safety replaced by mistrust, and paranoia, and pain, so much pain. _I shouldn’t have been so blind; I know too much now._

  
Lonely rat, scrounging around in the filth, seclusion the only friend in sight, and taking whatever is thrown their way, scraps of food found on dirty basement floors, just to hide away again. _Pointless, what am I even doing here?_ He shoved it away and submerged himself in delusions again, closed his eyes, and waited for Uncle Iroh.

  
***

  
Iroh’s words, a weight around his throat, choking guilt, and burdensome. His arms around his torso in a vice grip mirrored a begging cry to not leave, _don’t die on me, I can’t take that again, don’t leave, don’t leave, please, please, please,_ and the tears poisoned his heart. Zuko winced, patting him on the back, loose, _don’t show emotion, weak._

  
The sadness clung too hard.

  
Cool, calm water rocked underneath the kayak, and the rowing was a welcome distraction, sea lions groaning, and barking, a warning of an enemy passing. Zuko shook his fur from the filth of their accusatory eyes, and bared his rat-like teeth in rebuttal. He had to do this; he wasn’t given any choice. They should be more understanding.

Paranoia and guilt lurked at the back of his mind.

  
The water was resolute, impervious to the advances he made, and stubbornly in his way, sunk into his clothes, filled his throat; trying to drown the fire. Perfidious cold, mischievous heat, he didn’t know which would win the fight raging within the war. He climbed, stretched, and swam, fought against an all-encompassing life force, focused upon the fire heated in his core; breathing hard, breathing steady—short breathes contained in his mouth and burned his lungs.

Swallowed the fire, held in his stomach, in his palms, and broke through to the other side.

  
***

  
Zuko should’ve known failure would find him again, his eternal soulmate, but he had hope when the girl threw water at him, when the sun shined down on him, when the boy’s body slumped against him, and even when the snow, the ice tried to drag him under. When the impassable life-force, stubborn, and strong, met his hope, suffocating it in all that snow, the hand of failure was colder than any snow he had been submerged in.

  
He was exhausted, exhausted enough he contemplated taking the mercy-hand.  
In his subconscious, the clothes he wore pulled against his bruised skin, and his feet dragged coldly. In his subconscious, a comforting hand, bitter and hesitant, brushed cautiously against his shivering forehead, and he experienced warmth deep in the middle of his being despite all that cold.

  
But subconscious memories could rarely be relied upon, and Zuko’s weary mind didn’t want to venture any further.

  
***

  
When Iroh’s hand laid upon his shoulder, Zuko hesitated, experiencing the reassurance of _home_ and failure, morphing more into acceptance of his current situation, grasped his hand, and welcomed him into her bosom. He remembered the Avatar, a child, immersed in a war that shouldn’t be his to fight, and pity accompanied his racing thoughts, the amalgamation of technicolor dull emotions in his chest, painting his throat.

  
He thought of the boy with blue eyes, fierce, determined, and warmth, so much comfort it burnt him, disgusted him, and reminded him of how _wrong_ he was. He reminisced about the girl with strength, and a different determination residing in her eyes than the boy’s but somehow so similar it unnerved him.

  
Phantom pain incessantly undulated under his skin, under the scarred lumps of his shoulder and face, and he fell back into it all, his father’s hands over him.

  
“I’m tired,” he settled for, but he wanted to scream.


	7. Book 1, Sweet Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wished it a dream, 
> 
> The moon once again gleamed.
> 
> And his heart screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is THE END of Book 1, i hope yall have enjoyed, and enjoy this chappie as well. 
> 
> im looking forward to book 2 with yall!! please leave comments and kudos!! i greatly appreciate it allll!!!!!

Yue knew how to sit in perfect formal, and how to hold a conversation with various leaders. She knew how to be the perfect princess, the potential queen to be sold to whoever her father favored. Yue knew, but she didn’t know the ways of why her heart stuttered around Sokka, the thought of freedom to be her own. Sokka had a way of making her forget the moon on her wrist, luminescent, and looming, or the responsibilities lurking for her, waiting to open their maw and eat her alive.

  
His lips were warm against hers, tinge of salt, and rough skin against hers, masculine and sure against her wavering, shaking feminine lips, soft and unsure. His fingertips, a stark juxtaposition to the roughness of his lips, ghosted her ear, a thumb caressed her cheek, and a shiver twirled underneath her skin. She pushed closer, ignored her duties, gripped onto the sensation of lips against lips, but the anxiety increased, surrounded the pleasant feelings, and dragged them to drown.

  
She pushed away, tribulation was already building behind her eyelashes, gathering resources, tears doubling their efforts to storm the grounds of her cheeks, and Sokka’s dejected face hurt more than the cold war that took place behind her lashes, on her cheeks.

  
His eyes perforated the surface of her back as she ran away.

  
***

  
Yue came around, of course she did. Her lips tingled, rough skin imprinted in the folds of her brain, the nerve receptors of her skin, and her tongue wouldn’t forget the taste of his kiss.

She craved the warmth, the albeit awkward, but charming humor, and way about him. She couldn’t _be with_ him, but she could be around him. His grin lit up, brighter than the moon, and she giggled, though the edges were tinged with the unmistakable weight of doom.

  
She wanted to forget it, wanted to pretend it wasn’t there—

  
“You’ve gotta meet my friend, Appa.”

  
“Appa?” She laughed—

  
He helped.

Appa guided them into the skies, and Sokka talked, and talked, nervous in his pursuit of  
friendship. The wind gently swept her hair over her shoulders, and the sun warmed her skin, though the doom circulated in her blood stream, poisoning her heart. It resembled a warning she should have taken.

  
The doom was blacker, and colder than any soot from the sky mixed with snow.

  
Sokka seemed to sense it too.

  
***

  
Yue peered over Tui, the doom battling death, while entranced by the spin, spin of their cycle; phases of the moon, waves of the ocean. Voices thudded out of clarity, throbbing mindlessly in the background. Tui looked at her, a knowledge emanating from the spirit, and Yue was Tui, Tui was her, trapped in the cycle of push and pull. Yue was not aware of if she was being pulled in, or if she was pushing forward. It was mesmerizing, she was in a trance, not wanting to look away  
or not being able to.  
“Yue, come on we’ve gotta go!” Tui turned away, as if saying,

  
_It’s not your time yet._

  
And Yue stepped back.

  
“Coming!”

The doom lost the battle, leaking blood, and submitting to death, for now she knew the reason.

  
***

  
The cold hung on her, acceptance in the air. Sokka tapped his foot, anxious arms crossed, and lips bitten. She placed a hand on his arm, a smile gracing her lips, and her head tilted toward him. He moved away, unconscious, but it stung and he stared into the white canvas surrounding them, as though he was trying to fill it with color by the power of his mind alone.

  
She understood the appeal.

  
The boy, Zuko, crushed under the snow, and Sokka’s hands shook. He crumbled, gritting his teeth. His eyes crinkled around the borders, shriveling in pain. When Zuko is brought upon Appa, Sokka exhales, relaxing into his skin, but his teeth continued to grit into each other, eyes confused relief and bruising bitterness. Aang laid him down, understanding hazily filtering through Yue’s blood stream, streaked her red, frozen lips, and she tasted the hot run-off.  
Sokka’s hand petted Zuko’s forehead, although by his hateful, bated movements he could’ve been stabbing him, and worried somebody would find out about the murder.

  
Yue identified the sweet taste on her lips.

  
It was knowledge, and she smiled at the twinkling snow, the two fated lovers.

  
She pulled Sokka aside, intimate words, licked lips, and cold ears, glancing eyes. “There are things in this world that cannot be eloquently explained,” He flinched, “but that doesn’t always make them bad, that doesn’t always mean they’re doomed. Sometimes its okay to not know, Sokka. Sometimes its okay to just accept what is, instead of trying to figure it out.”

  
His gritted teeth snagged on his cheek, and Yue placed a hand on his cheek, the indent of teeth against the pads of her fingers, and her cold lips melted against the heat of his cheek.  
Her lips melted, heart warmed with understanding, and Sokka’s eyes burrowed into Zuko.

  
***  
Wet grass cushioned Yue’s knees, and red decorated the planes of her features, the dead spirit in ,her hands. Hand over hand, dead koi, decisions, and knowledge, and the dead blood of doom soaked into the grass. Sokka was panicked, words clinging to her clothes, and voice rising while a deluge of peace overcame her. While he shouted his pleas, and sought out, and thrashed, her eyes closed, Tui whispered the consent, sweet embrace of warmth, and the unbreakable bond, the comfortable, encompassing arms of the moon.

  
Her soulmate.

  
Sokka cried, “I’ll hold a place in my heart for you, forever vacant.”

  
And she replied, “I’ll watch over all your days.”

  
Then she kissed him farewell.

  
And he collapsed, fell.

  
In the light of her love, he whispered the words Zuko passed on his lips in the morning.

  
“I’m tired.” He couldn’t tear his gaze away from above, consumed in his mourning.

He wished it a dream,

  
The moon once again gleamed.

  
And his heart screamed.


	8. Book 2, Azula

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Father does want me.” Father doesn’t want either of us.
> 
> She squashed the pity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyyy-ooo it is azula pov and beginning of book 2!!!! i hope yall enjoy!!!!

Azula was trusted with a task of utmost importance. Her father depended upon her, a weapon of poise, and disguise, a strength to undergo the changes necessary of her. She had to succeed in the plan, she had to be perfect.

“Just a hair out of place.” She focused angrily on the dangling piece, whipped in the air and trailing her eyes. _Just a hair…just a hair…_ fire flashed behind the hair, scarred and warning, _its not just a hair!_

She started over, thunder into the water, lighting from her veins. She had to be perfect, she had to succeed.

***

Ozai looked upon her, scarred brother shameful, and cowering, sent away in her peripherals, a warning. She refused to flinch. He placed a heavy hand on her fragile shoulder, and she steeled her knees against the impact. Her father adopted a faraway dream in his gaze, and he allowed contentment to steam out of his nose like a kettle of rage, and control.

“Oh, I have such plans for you.” Azula stared resolutely forward, kettle heat on her shoulders, and supported the weight with her knees. He brought a punishing hand to her hair, stiffly guided it through the strands, and she was too distracted by the affection, too surprised a hand that cruel could hold any softness, to acknowledge the disgust in her own throat.

***

Since Azula was young, her identity had never been a question, and there’d been no need for any such answer. She was given answers to questions she wasn’t supposed to ask. She was silenced before she could speak. _Take this Azula, eat it with fervor and unflinching loyalty. Do not question what it is, trust, do not open your mouth with the intention of choice, just take what we offer, take it all, and never stop. Take it all alone._

Then became the time to withdraw to survive. Eating with no intention at all, accepting because the alternative would be the spoon of poison turning into a knife, stabbing the innards of her, slicing her cheek, and gutting her. She’d be dead either way. _Wiped her cheek, cooing voice, bruising hands rewarding with affection through petting her hair. She would chase for more, but it would change into a backhand. ‘You were such a good girl, so good. What happened?’_

_I asked for too much._

Azula looked in the mirror, gritting her teeth, and glared at her hair.

_  
I asked for too much.  
***  
_Zuko’s fingers embedded themselves into each other, curling and pulling, hope in his voice. Azula’s intention wormed itself in between her questioning eyebrows, lips tinged with a flicker of curiosity and the sting on her cheek returned. _Do not question Azula, accept the circumstances, look at the scar, see the shame, experience the regret, the foolish hope._

_  
Do not be like Zuko._

_  
_ “Father does want me.” _Father doesn’t want either of us._

_  
_ She squashed the pity.

_  
***_

_  
_ Azula was born lucky, but it had never registered to her as so. Zuko was most definitely not off the best, none of them were, or ever could be, but he had Iroh, he had mother, he had escaped the grip, however painful in its pursuit, of a tyrannical monster.

She saw, but couldn’t be persuaded to leave.

_  
“Do you think we’ll ever be able to be siblings again?” A question asked, deserving of an  
organic answer, but a parrot within her being, words of her father circulating in her mind in  
place of any real thought. She gaped, like a fish out of water, her upper lip in contact with her bottom one, open-shut-open-shut. His eyes were closed, baby skin, and she closed her eyes to match. No? she questioned. Yes? she ruminated. I wish…_

_  
She yearned, and grabbed the spoon-fed poison, transforming the spoon into a knife so it could no longer harm her, and stabbed him in the heart. “Foolish.” She couldn’t open her eyes to see the mess of blood on the floor, but she knew her father would clean it with a smile, and a petting hand through her hair._

_  
***_

Azula thought she followed her father’s rule because she knew no better, no other way. She thought she stayed because she had no one else. She thought a lot over her circumstances despite not being allowed her own intention, despite her father’s voice trapping, drowning her own voice.

  
She had never been given a chance to supply her own answers to her identity before, and the ruminating, the ting-ting-ting of thoughts bouncing in her head earned an answering paddle to battle the ping-pong ball of thoughts. She thought, an answer to the many other thoughts, it was fear.

  
It was an answer she hated herself for, and instantly withdrew from the pain.

  
She convinced herself she just wanted to make her father proud.

  
***

  
Azula was trusted with a task of utmost importance, and as she stared down her brother, a sickly-sweet smile that she did not think, did not know, was not conscious, of it being hers or not, it weighed the most heavily on her. It held her in a choke-hold, pulled her tight against dread, and she floundered, but the sting, the pet, the comfort and pain and attention, and bribing wedged a space between dread, and replaced with fear, with the instinctual will to survive.

  
She hated herself, _withdraw, withdraw._

  
Her smile never faltered.

  
The guard ruined everything, and dread latched upon her again, dragged her under. She did not want to go home. She could not disappoint her father, twisting lips, angry palms, petting hair, disgust and anger. She wished she could stay under the water. She did not want to face the hands of her father, the weight upon her shoulders, the hiss of a kettle, or a warning of a striking snake.

  
Zuko and Iroh escaped, running into the forest.

  
Azula kicked to the surface, inhaling deep breaths of air, and gritting her teeth into her cheek. _Do not question. Do not hesitate. Accept the poison, Azula. Accept your fate._

  
_Do not be like Zuko, look at the scar, look at it._

  
She did not want to go home.

So she didn't. 

**Author's Note:**

> hey! this is a soulmate au where they have soulmarks, propaganda madness implemented by azulon, soulmarks from another nation are burned off, and when in proximity (hugging, kissing, or generally being close) to their soulmate, they feel warmth/comfort. (zuko and sokka can also feel each others pain) 
> 
> i sincerely hope you enjoy!


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